Emmy Gets Surreal

Don't Call Me, I'll Call You

If you are a stay at home parent, you must accept one truth: there is no such thing as a "good time to talk" on the phone. If you attempt to have a dialed up heart-to-heart with a friend or family member, you absolutely MUST be prepared to interrupt the conversation so you can tell your children "honey, i don't think your brother likes it when you stick your Barbie's feet in his eyes," and "try to get the yogurt into your mouth, rather than your nose."

Because here is another truth: as soon as you start dialing a number on your phone, or as soon as your cell phone starts ringing, a signal goes off in your children's brains. The signal says “ALERT! ALERT! CODE RED! Mommy wants to have adult talk! Must stop this from happening!” And then, like robots spinning out of control, your children will do ANYTHING and EVERYTHING in their power to get you to stop talking on the phone.

First, your oldest little child will come right up to your face, breathe into your eyeballs, and tell you that they are terribly hungry and in desperate need of a snack.

“Hold on,” you tell your phone friend. “I just have to get Emmy some crackers.”

Your child wolfs down the crackers as quickly as possible. Then your child starts screaming, as if they have just been hired as town crier.

“MY HANDS ARE DIRTY!!! AAACK! MY HANDS ARE DIRTY!!”

“Hold on,” you tell your friend. “I just have to get Emmy some napkins.”

Meanwhile, your youngest little child will see your distraction-via-phone-conversation as an ideal opportunity to discover areas of the house that have not yet been explored. So while you go fetch your oldest little child some napkins, your youngest little child teeters out of the living room and into the kitchen, where he tries “rock climbing” the cabinets.

“Hold on,” you tell your friend. “Oren is about to start brushing his hair with our kitchen knives. I should probably stop him.”

After you get your one child away from the knife set, and you wipe the cracker encrusted hands of your other child, you figure it might be a good idea to get some blocks for the kids to play with, so you can at least TRY to talk to your friend. You pour a bunch of Duplo blocks out in the middle of the living room floor and tell the kids to share nicely.

And they DO share nicely, for about 20 seconds. Then youngest little child grabs block from oldest little child, and oldest little child screams and grabs block back from youngest little child. Then youngest little child grabs a handful of oldest little child's hair and pulls REALLY REALLY HARD.

“Hold on,” you tell your friend. “I just have to unhinge my eleven month old son's very very strong fingers before he causes Emmy to be prematurely bald.”

Then there is the hugging and soothing of oldest little child. And then there is the reprimanding of youngest little child (which of course is completely useless because he is only eleven months old). Then there is the separating of the children, with youngest little child going in his high chair, to try and avoid further calamities. You give your youngest little child a few blocks to play with.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Your youngest little child uses his blocks to make ear-deafening, earth-shaking noises. Your friend asks if you are having construction done on your house. You take blocks away from your youngest little one and give him some Cheerios to eat as a snack.

Meanwhile, your oldest little one has built a large tower out of the Duplo blocks, and is trying to stand ON TOP of the very colorful mini version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

“Hold on,” you tell your friend. “I just have to stop Emmy from jumping off a tall building.”

You swoop in on your oldest little one just as she is about to fall and break a limb. And then you notice your youngest little one beginning to choke because he has stuffed his mouth full of 84 Cheerios.

“Hold on,” you tell your friend. “I just have to...”

“Should I try calling at a better time?” your friend inquires, sensing the panic in your voice.

“Um, sure,” you reply. “Can you call back right about this time... in about 14 years? I might be a LITTLE less distracted.”

Mama, Please Hit Me!

So, yesterday I encountered what might have been my most perplexing parenting moment thus far.

Em and Oren and I were playing in the living room. Oren was playing with his little alphabet caterpillar, and Em was putting on one of her (many) performances as Ariel the Mermaid. Em seemed to be tiring of playing Ariel, and started chasing Oren around the room a little, when she suddenly ran up to me.

“Mama, hit me!” she said.

I looked at her, of course TOTALLY baffled, and sure I had misheard her words.

“What did you say, Emmy?”

“Hit me, Mama! I want to play the hitting game! Hit me right here!” she said, pointing to her arm.

Now, I will pause here to mention that there is NO hitting in our home. We never spank. We never push. We never put my hands on our children in any way that might be even remotely considered physically aggressive.

“Emmy,” I said, kind of laughing, because I was so caught off guard by the moment, “I am NOT going to hit you. I love you. Don't be silly.”

Ember shook her head, “Just hit me here, mama. Please! It's the hitting game! I want to see how it feels!”

“Are you kidding, Emmy? Hitting hurts! I won't hit you. It is not nice to hit people!”

At this point, Ember was pulling on my arm, with tears in her eyes.

“Please, mama! Just hit me! It's the hitting game! You can hit me not so hard, like this!” she said, hitting her own arm. “I want to see how it feels!”

“I am not going to hit you, Emmy!”

“PLEEEEEASE, Mama! Please hit me!!”

And that is when I went from feeling bewildered to feeling totally overwhelmed by the moment. I started to choke up. Why in the world was my three year old begging me to hit her?? I couldn't wrap my head around it for the life of me.

“Emmy, nobody is supposed to hit you. Does anybody hit you?” I asked, very nervously.

“No.”

“What is the hitting game? Do you play this at school?”

“Yes.”

“Does somebody hit you at school?” I asked.

“No.”

“Does ANYONE hit ANYONE at school?” I asked.

“Yes.”

And then she named a few boys in her class, and said they played the “Hitting Game”.

“Well,” I said to Emmy, “we definitely do NOT play the hitting game at home. And if somebody hits you at school, Emmy, it is not nice. You should tell me or dada AND your teacher if anybody in your class hits you. Hitting is NOT a game. Hitting hurts.”

“Ok,” Emmy said, sounding somewhat disappointed.

So, here I am, a day later, still reeling from the incident. I've Googled “3 year old daughter asked me to hit her,” hoping to find discussion boards of other parents who've been through similar, completely crazy conversations with their three year olds, and I have come up empty handed. Apparently NO other parent has had to have this conversation with their three year old, or NO other parent wants to talk about having this conversation with their three year old?

I may be overreacting about the incident. It is very possible that Em may have seen some kids in her class playing “Tag,” and she thought they were chasing each other around and hitting one another, and was curious as to why hitting would be part of a game. Em IS in a class with seven boys and only one other girl, so it is also possible that the “games” she sees the boys playing are more aggressive than the games she is used to.

Still, this is my baby girl we are talking about. This is the girl who I was cuddling in my arms and rocking to sleep just a year or so ago. This is the girl who I never ever want to see hurt or hit by another person.

Hitting hurts, Em. Hitting is not a game. And I will never, ever hit you.